I went over to a my friend Sharshar to get some cds he had left for me, he was out of town and had left them at his place. So he told me to go by his house and take them off the maid, here's the conversation that took place. The maid was there with elderly relatives of his, so I rang the intercom and down came the maid talking to me at the building's gate.
Me: Hello
Maid: Hello, how are you?
Me: Fine thanks, I want to thank you for bringing these things down.
Maid: No problem, say hi to Tuta for me.
Me: I will, goodbye.
Maid: Why don't you come up and have something to drink.
Me: Okay
Maid (with a frightened look) : You do know that sharshar isn't here don't you?
Me: Yes.
M (still frozen no movement): ermm...
Me: It's okay I was just kidding, I'll be on my way now
Maid (didn't get the joke) : Salaam
I'm a little evil, I know, but that's how I usually goof around with people who throw around boatmen's invites.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Greatest Gift
I feel sorry for all fanatics who have locked themselves up in this world and have not enjoyed it and in effect squandered the greatest gift of all given to them by God, life!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
A Woman's Forgiveness
Dostoevsky says:
'Never ask a woman for forgiveness, on no account will she forgive you in a simple manner, no, she will degrade you to the level of a floor-cloth, she will find things that never even happened, will take everything, forget nothing, add things of her own and only then forgive'
and he says that this is so with the best of them.
'Never ask a woman for forgiveness, on no account will she forgive you in a simple manner, no, she will degrade you to the level of a floor-cloth, she will find things that never even happened, will take everything, forget nothing, add things of her own and only then forgive'
and he says that this is so with the best of them.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
The Siege
This movie was made back in '98 and yet it was so prophetic in how it conveyed the problems that were already apparent even back then.
It appears that somehow the whole world ended up where it didn't want to be.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Raised On The Street
The government wants us to think that the problem is with us. If only people would do their jobs better, if only people would work harder, if only people would stop littering, if only, if only. While people have indeed reached new heights of slumber and dismay, it is apparent that this is not entirely of their own doing. They have been catalyzed, pushed and even hypnotized into heading into that direction by none other than the governments themselves. To make matters worse the government installs a sense of hopelessness that things cannot be bettered and this is the exact ingredient to stabilize the state of dismay. Things of course aren't bad for everybody, they're worse for the people and better for the government who will soon run out of people to rob and oppress and will look amongst themselves for preys to feast upon until they've destroyed one another and present us with another outright dictator who will govern a hopeless and non existent people.
They say that if we had the energy of those who fought the war back in '73 or if we had the energy of those who won the African cup twice in a row, we'd turn this place around. But I tell you, if only the government had that same spirit, and when I say the government I'm not talking about 80 million people, I'm just taking about a couple of thousand, if they had that same spirit we'd be on the verge of fixing things.
But these days all anyone wants to do is preach. All anyone wants to do is hand out burdens to people that he himself cannot carry. It's easier to tell people to do things better, but can you tell yourself to do things, not even better, just differently? It's a near impossible task, it takes effort to stop drinking your tea or coffee in the morning. It takes effort to change things that have been instilled in you for a very long time and the fact of the matter is that all the horrible things have been instilled in us since birth. Not only does the government not provide what we need to overcome natural obstacles of ugly habits, but they devise ingeniously obstacles that hinder each individual from progress. In order to actually progress just a little bit, a tiny bit that other developed countries may consider as insignificant, you need to be a great person. This seemingly little progress should not be evaluated of itself but in the context in which this progress was made. For to go one step forward rather than ten steps back is to overcome the immense boulders designed by the government to set you back. That kilometer you've walked is worth thirty of those walked by others who have real governments and countries.
We've been brought up on a vicious street and not a home. It's the survival of the fittest and punishment of virtue and the hindering of any progress that might endanger the pact leader even if it benefits the others. It's like a den of thieves where honest people are the real outsiders. It's not a home where we feel safety in everything we do, guilty when doing wrong. It's a jungle where we have to turn into carnivores in order to get to the top of the food chain. We need to eat each other alive and we have no real protectors but each other.
And to top it all off, they tell you the problem is with you. "Come let us talk," they say, don't revolt, it's a democracy. But when we go and talk, they arrest us, beat us and torture us. The perfect servant of theirs is one who is happy to be enslaved. But a hundred years from now who knows what can happen, whose children will be where. They're trying to ensure our children and theirs a life that's not worth living and a country that's not worth dying for.
They say that if we had the energy of those who fought the war back in '73 or if we had the energy of those who won the African cup twice in a row, we'd turn this place around. But I tell you, if only the government had that same spirit, and when I say the government I'm not talking about 80 million people, I'm just taking about a couple of thousand, if they had that same spirit we'd be on the verge of fixing things.
But these days all anyone wants to do is preach. All anyone wants to do is hand out burdens to people that he himself cannot carry. It's easier to tell people to do things better, but can you tell yourself to do things, not even better, just differently? It's a near impossible task, it takes effort to stop drinking your tea or coffee in the morning. It takes effort to change things that have been instilled in you for a very long time and the fact of the matter is that all the horrible things have been instilled in us since birth. Not only does the government not provide what we need to overcome natural obstacles of ugly habits, but they devise ingeniously obstacles that hinder each individual from progress. In order to actually progress just a little bit, a tiny bit that other developed countries may consider as insignificant, you need to be a great person. This seemingly little progress should not be evaluated of itself but in the context in which this progress was made. For to go one step forward rather than ten steps back is to overcome the immense boulders designed by the government to set you back. That kilometer you've walked is worth thirty of those walked by others who have real governments and countries.
We've been brought up on a vicious street and not a home. It's the survival of the fittest and punishment of virtue and the hindering of any progress that might endanger the pact leader even if it benefits the others. It's like a den of thieves where honest people are the real outsiders. It's not a home where we feel safety in everything we do, guilty when doing wrong. It's a jungle where we have to turn into carnivores in order to get to the top of the food chain. We need to eat each other alive and we have no real protectors but each other.
And to top it all off, they tell you the problem is with you. "Come let us talk," they say, don't revolt, it's a democracy. But when we go and talk, they arrest us, beat us and torture us. The perfect servant of theirs is one who is happy to be enslaved. But a hundred years from now who knows what can happen, whose children will be where. They're trying to ensure our children and theirs a life that's not worth living and a country that's not worth dying for.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
One Canvas
What lives have we to live to try out all we do. So obstinate do we act fueled by foolish pride. And years go by and years go by with a voice inside us telling us how sad we feel, asking us to change our ways and demanding of us to be happy, but our pride feels compelled to clamp that voice. By time our cries become attenuated whispers and none but our foolish years remain, none but they stand proud. Our pride goes old, it goes weary and remorseful over wasted time. It has not gained a thing by it's obsolete reslience, on the contrary it has caused all around it to lose.
One day we find the many lives we dreamed inside our heads have shrunk to only one, and one we lived. It does not look much like any of those we have inside our heads, we wasted all of those and wasted the remaining one too. We waste our lives because in the midst of our obstinacy we do have that mental image that things weren't so, that history had not been unkind, that time had not been so unforgiving. We think of times that were, and think what if things could change and nothing of that had been done ever was. What if we could forgive, what if we could forget, we think of this all in the midst of all our anger, sorrow and pride, but the king of fools steps in, pride, and though it be foolish, it's nevertheless a king. The king commands that all our childish dreams be vanquished to that high lonely tower labeled dignity.
Our hearts are foolish and are strong, they overpower the mind at times and delude us. The mind exists to please the heart, that's true, but sometimes a mind must win to give the heart what it doesn't know that it wants. The heart has tricked us all to think that we have more lives than one or that perhaps the life we live can give us years that are long.
One canvas is all we get and every stroke cannot be undone. One life is all we get with wasted minutes spent in anger and dismay. Countless minutes we spend hating those we love, pushing away those we need, forgetting who remember us. Countless days awaiting a change that can only be given by ourselves.
Have we not learnt that much from all our past? Have we not learnt from all the others never had? Love knows no pride but what do we do when life and love collide?
One day we find the many lives we dreamed inside our heads have shrunk to only one, and one we lived. It does not look much like any of those we have inside our heads, we wasted all of those and wasted the remaining one too. We waste our lives because in the midst of our obstinacy we do have that mental image that things weren't so, that history had not been unkind, that time had not been so unforgiving. We think of times that were, and think what if things could change and nothing of that had been done ever was. What if we could forgive, what if we could forget, we think of this all in the midst of all our anger, sorrow and pride, but the king of fools steps in, pride, and though it be foolish, it's nevertheless a king. The king commands that all our childish dreams be vanquished to that high lonely tower labeled dignity.
Our hearts are foolish and are strong, they overpower the mind at times and delude us. The mind exists to please the heart, that's true, but sometimes a mind must win to give the heart what it doesn't know that it wants. The heart has tricked us all to think that we have more lives than one or that perhaps the life we live can give us years that are long.
One canvas is all we get and every stroke cannot be undone. One life is all we get with wasted minutes spent in anger and dismay. Countless minutes we spend hating those we love, pushing away those we need, forgetting who remember us. Countless days awaiting a change that can only be given by ourselves.
Have we not learnt that much from all our past? Have we not learnt from all the others never had? Love knows no pride but what do we do when life and love collide?
Sunday, March 09, 2008
European Guilt
Let’s talk about Israel. Israel is a land given to Jews by Europeans. This gift is a result of many years of persecution against Jews, and to say that Europe was not guilty of being anti-Semitic for a very long time would be a complete fallacy. Yes, Europe was guilty of and felt guilty for mistreating Jews and persecuting them for so long. To add salt to an already open and burning wound the Jews were persecuted by Hitler. The Nazi German regime persecuted Jews like no other, but to say that Germany alone persecuted Jews would be a great falsification. Nazi Germany only represented the extremity of persecution already suffered by Jews in Europe. Those persecutions, stove-piped, would not at all have offended other Europeans. However one thing must come to mind when thinking of the guilt that entailed after the extreme persecution of Jews at the hands of Hitler; that Hitler was aggressive against other Europeans.
Yes, that was the turning point and wake up call to Europeans. They were being annihilated and invaded by Germany and they were dubbed inferior to Germans. They felt a tiny tinge of the discrimination and/or persecution that they have been inflicting on Jews. It is only then when they felt that they were in the same boat and realized the horrors of what they had been doing to the Jews.
That is not to say that this guilt wasn’t lingering earlier on, it is evident that ever since the Balfour promise that there was some sort of obligation. However real guilt, the guilt that an entire continent felt was not fully mature till they experienced how horrible it was to be a victim of tyrant racists.
In Germany’s persecution of Jews, Europeans found themselves on the same side as Jews and were able to walk in their shoes for a while. The great sense of European guilt started to build as Hitler became an epitome of racism and persecution. They found that they had to fight against what he stood for and in a sense found out that they had to fight against… what they themselves had been doing for centuries. When they realized that their past itself was their own enemy, embodied in the shape of Hitler and fascism, a great sense of self awareness was born and along with it the guilt and horror of what their extremity might look like.
Perhaps this was the reason that a European and American endorsed Israel emerged. It seemed very appropriate to give back to this persecuted nation something after all the years of tyranny they have endured. However there is one little thing that might be wrong about all this, that in order to ease their guilt, the Europeans have persecuted Palestinians in effect. The real problem is that Europeans are still guilty about Jews and this makes them truly oblivious to the effect Israel has had on Palestinians. The Arabs have now become, in general, the new Jews, only without the current sympathy old Jews are shrouded with. They are looked down upon and persecuted and the great Europeans are making the same mistake over and over again.
Israel has become the biggest bully in the world, and this is not an overstatement. No other country has defied the UN so bluntly. Israel continues to persecute Palestinians systemically, despite being the one nation of all the people in the world that should understand what this means. The world stands by and lets this be.
Why does the world let this be? Is it their guilt towards Jews? Is it disinterest? I don’t have a clear cut answer. Maybe someday there will be another awakening for the world to realize what’s being done to Palestinians.
Do we need another Hitler to put Westerners and Arabs in the same boat so as to realize the shameful ways in which we treat each other? Do we need another wake up call to recognize that the world is falling into the same mistakes relentlessly?
In their discrimination against Arabs Europeans are building up a new guilt that may not take complete form within this lifetime, but they’re setting their children up for a fall. At the rate they’re heading towards a more humanitarian outlook at the other, they will soon realize that they are guilty of failing to practice what they preach. Today their hands are against their ears when it comes to the violations of Israel, but history sometimes, just some times, screams the facts much later on. As ironically as the Arabs have become the new Jews, Israel has become as discriminatory as their oppressors. The dead are screaming from beneath the earth for those living to take heed to what has happened to them.
Yes, that was the turning point and wake up call to Europeans. They were being annihilated and invaded by Germany and they were dubbed inferior to Germans. They felt a tiny tinge of the discrimination and/or persecution that they have been inflicting on Jews. It is only then when they felt that they were in the same boat and realized the horrors of what they had been doing to the Jews.
That is not to say that this guilt wasn’t lingering earlier on, it is evident that ever since the Balfour promise that there was some sort of obligation. However real guilt, the guilt that an entire continent felt was not fully mature till they experienced how horrible it was to be a victim of tyrant racists.
In Germany’s persecution of Jews, Europeans found themselves on the same side as Jews and were able to walk in their shoes for a while. The great sense of European guilt started to build as Hitler became an epitome of racism and persecution. They found that they had to fight against what he stood for and in a sense found out that they had to fight against… what they themselves had been doing for centuries. When they realized that their past itself was their own enemy, embodied in the shape of Hitler and fascism, a great sense of self awareness was born and along with it the guilt and horror of what their extremity might look like.
Perhaps this was the reason that a European and American endorsed Israel emerged. It seemed very appropriate to give back to this persecuted nation something after all the years of tyranny they have endured. However there is one little thing that might be wrong about all this, that in order to ease their guilt, the Europeans have persecuted Palestinians in effect. The real problem is that Europeans are still guilty about Jews and this makes them truly oblivious to the effect Israel has had on Palestinians. The Arabs have now become, in general, the new Jews, only without the current sympathy old Jews are shrouded with. They are looked down upon and persecuted and the great Europeans are making the same mistake over and over again.
Israel has become the biggest bully in the world, and this is not an overstatement. No other country has defied the UN so bluntly. Israel continues to persecute Palestinians systemically, despite being the one nation of all the people in the world that should understand what this means. The world stands by and lets this be.
Why does the world let this be? Is it their guilt towards Jews? Is it disinterest? I don’t have a clear cut answer. Maybe someday there will be another awakening for the world to realize what’s being done to Palestinians.
Do we need another Hitler to put Westerners and Arabs in the same boat so as to realize the shameful ways in which we treat each other? Do we need another wake up call to recognize that the world is falling into the same mistakes relentlessly?
In their discrimination against Arabs Europeans are building up a new guilt that may not take complete form within this lifetime, but they’re setting their children up for a fall. At the rate they’re heading towards a more humanitarian outlook at the other, they will soon realize that they are guilty of failing to practice what they preach. Today their hands are against their ears when it comes to the violations of Israel, but history sometimes, just some times, screams the facts much later on. As ironically as the Arabs have become the new Jews, Israel has become as discriminatory as their oppressors. The dead are screaming from beneath the earth for those living to take heed to what has happened to them.
Friday, March 07, 2008
What Right Had I
What right had I to fight those mouths that uttered insults at my existence, judging it crass and decaying? What right had I to deny the words they said even if untrue, for I deserved at least, a little bit of what they said. Why choose to win the battle of words when most of what's been said has struck the delicate chords. I have no right to anger or fight off those that have been struck no matter how wrong they are, for I have been guilty too of doing wrong at many other times and being struck and being fought. But at the same time they have no right to see me in a low and bent state, they have no right to move past my inner shell and extract my inner most confessions.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Enraged Beyond Words
I'm enraged beyond words. The farthest reach of my words cannot explain how angry I am. I cannot type with enough vigour to reflect how fuming I am right now. If only the harder I struck the keyboard the deeper the characters are imprinted.
I'm so angry I feel I'm going to foam at the mouth. I'm so angry I feel like a damn wounded beast that is about to die and its anger at its hurt is killing it from within. My stomach feels like a steam engine's burner from all the heat and coal it contains inside.
I'm too angry to talk about why.. I'm too angry to describe how.. I'm too angry to think of why I'm angry.. I know I'm angry at situations and I know I'm angry at myself. This post of mine is raw and unedited as is this rage it describes. This rage is a face with a growling expression and a jaw with gnashing teeth.
I can't stand myself, I can't stand anyone around me, I can't stand anything I need to do, I want to disappear I want to self ignite and I want to vapourize. There's nothing I can say to express the anger I feel and I really hate myself this way. I hate what I am at the moment and that I could reach such a state. There's just no outlet for this hot balloon. I know I'm damned, but I'll be damned if I give a damn. I'm sick of rambling and I'm sick of grumbling and I'm so angry I can eat a horse. I'm so angry I can get into a boxing ring… I'm so angry I can throw a punch and I'm so angry that I can take a punch… not just one, an entire beating as well. I'll move and move and feel and feel till it's all out.. maybe one kick will push it all away.
If I were to act wise I would say I'm angry with someone or something, but the foolish man that I am, I'm honest enough to say that I'm greatly angry with myself. That poor idiotic self forced upon me to observe me and lead me and be a part of my existence. I'm angry at what I do and I'm angry at what I don't… there's just so much that humble words at times of extreme rage cannot express.
I say and say in the hope that all this horrible rage insides me is let out, that I can get some relief out of writing all this, but the words come out of my head and they don't come out of my stomach as they should. The burning coals are not exhaled with words that want to represent them.
I've realized that one should always judge others by his standards rather than theirs. He'll never know enough about their standards to judge in their absence. I don't know what I'm saying this, but somehow it seems relevant to what I'm feeling. It's also a shame that one judges himself according to people's standard and not his. It's a shame that people judge themselves using both.
That dogmatic idiot inside me is such a villain. I have no idea what he has to do with anything, but he's a stupid bastard and I'm probably bringing him in because I'm angry at him too. Is there anything I'm not angry about at this moment?? Only the things that I cannot think of.. they're safe from my anger.. safe from my irrationality and my ….
I feel like smashing something, not that the hurting of objects would relieve these coals inside… but that's what I feel like doing. I feel like smashing the notebook… I feel like smashing the guitar .. I feel like playing an ugly loud solo and just breaking the guitar on the amplifier.
I feel that if I were to listen to music on large speakers I would want to smash the speakers.. but I'd probably smash my head too.. I feel that if I actually do one of these things now I'll probably feel okay.. but what am I doing.. I'm just writing and writing, more self control.. I want to explode and I'm just imploding more and more..
Who is this beast that's speaking, someone rather boring, I wouldn't read any of what I wrote just now!!! Stupid Stupid!!!
Stupid is a word I know can hurt, and that's why I call myself stupid!!! I call myself stupid in every part to hurt myself in every part. I've said so much but it's not enough, not for someone who is reading, but someone who is writing…
What more is there to say… I'll pound the gas and take a hard turn, it's mad beyond belief. It's a crazy life that offers me nothing but discontent. It's a life that gives me a way to play a losing game, because someone has to play and someone has to lose. It's near predetermined. I'm totally losing my mind.. I wondered what it's like to go insane, but I don't think I wonder anymore!!
I'm so angry I feel I'm going to foam at the mouth. I'm so angry I feel like a damn wounded beast that is about to die and its anger at its hurt is killing it from within. My stomach feels like a steam engine's burner from all the heat and coal it contains inside.
I'm too angry to talk about why.. I'm too angry to describe how.. I'm too angry to think of why I'm angry.. I know I'm angry at situations and I know I'm angry at myself. This post of mine is raw and unedited as is this rage it describes. This rage is a face with a growling expression and a jaw with gnashing teeth.
I can't stand myself, I can't stand anyone around me, I can't stand anything I need to do, I want to disappear I want to self ignite and I want to vapourize. There's nothing I can say to express the anger I feel and I really hate myself this way. I hate what I am at the moment and that I could reach such a state. There's just no outlet for this hot balloon. I know I'm damned, but I'll be damned if I give a damn. I'm sick of rambling and I'm sick of grumbling and I'm so angry I can eat a horse. I'm so angry I can get into a boxing ring… I'm so angry I can throw a punch and I'm so angry that I can take a punch… not just one, an entire beating as well. I'll move and move and feel and feel till it's all out.. maybe one kick will push it all away.
If I were to act wise I would say I'm angry with someone or something, but the foolish man that I am, I'm honest enough to say that I'm greatly angry with myself. That poor idiotic self forced upon me to observe me and lead me and be a part of my existence. I'm angry at what I do and I'm angry at what I don't… there's just so much that humble words at times of extreme rage cannot express.
I say and say in the hope that all this horrible rage insides me is let out, that I can get some relief out of writing all this, but the words come out of my head and they don't come out of my stomach as they should. The burning coals are not exhaled with words that want to represent them.
I've realized that one should always judge others by his standards rather than theirs. He'll never know enough about their standards to judge in their absence. I don't know what I'm saying this, but somehow it seems relevant to what I'm feeling. It's also a shame that one judges himself according to people's standard and not his. It's a shame that people judge themselves using both.
That dogmatic idiot inside me is such a villain. I have no idea what he has to do with anything, but he's a stupid bastard and I'm probably bringing him in because I'm angry at him too. Is there anything I'm not angry about at this moment?? Only the things that I cannot think of.. they're safe from my anger.. safe from my irrationality and my ….
I feel like smashing something, not that the hurting of objects would relieve these coals inside… but that's what I feel like doing. I feel like smashing the notebook… I feel like smashing the guitar .. I feel like playing an ugly loud solo and just breaking the guitar on the amplifier.
I feel that if I were to listen to music on large speakers I would want to smash the speakers.. but I'd probably smash my head too.. I feel that if I actually do one of these things now I'll probably feel okay.. but what am I doing.. I'm just writing and writing, more self control.. I want to explode and I'm just imploding more and more..
Who is this beast that's speaking, someone rather boring, I wouldn't read any of what I wrote just now!!! Stupid Stupid!!!
Stupid is a word I know can hurt, and that's why I call myself stupid!!! I call myself stupid in every part to hurt myself in every part. I've said so much but it's not enough, not for someone who is reading, but someone who is writing…
What more is there to say… I'll pound the gas and take a hard turn, it's mad beyond belief. It's a crazy life that offers me nothing but discontent. It's a life that gives me a way to play a losing game, because someone has to play and someone has to lose. It's near predetermined. I'm totally losing my mind.. I wondered what it's like to go insane, but I don't think I wonder anymore!!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Egyptian Love Song
This is a love song for Egypt,
And I hope someone sings it too,
but to tell her I love her I must be honest,
and tell her that I hate her too.
But no one's going to sing this song,
because everyone wants a fantasy to live,
With words majestic and thoughts so deep,
and nothing but lies and lies to give.
So when I tell Egypt that I love her,
You'd guess it's just for show,
And when I don't tell her that I hate her,
you'd then, absolutely know.
Egypt..You know Egypt, you've hurt me,
you've hurt everyone that's loved you too,
you've been raped and battered,
and you are us and we are you.
So a song to a fallen woman,
that's made us bastards all the way,
and yet we choose to sing for her,
songs with nothing much to say.
No woman, I won't live for you,
nor will I die for your land.
Nor will I tell you how beautiful you are,
You no longer understand.
And I hope someone sings it too,
but to tell her I love her I must be honest,
and tell her that I hate her too.
But no one's going to sing this song,
because everyone wants a fantasy to live,
With words majestic and thoughts so deep,
and nothing but lies and lies to give.
So when I tell Egypt that I love her,
You'd guess it's just for show,
And when I don't tell her that I hate her,
you'd then, absolutely know.
Egypt..You know Egypt, you've hurt me,
you've hurt everyone that's loved you too,
you've been raped and battered,
and you are us and we are you.
So a song to a fallen woman,
that's made us bastards all the way,
and yet we choose to sing for her,
songs with nothing much to say.
No woman, I won't live for you,
nor will I die for your land.
Nor will I tell you how beautiful you are,
You no longer understand.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Passion Is Everything
Passion is everything. Without passion there is no point in anything we do. The whole of life is about exciting every single feeling we can get our hands on that gives us something. There is nothing in life to be gained or lost except feelings. Everything in life that happens and has meaning is translated into a feeling. Nothing in life has value if it cannot be translated into a feeling.
Money in itself means nothing if it can't be translated. Beauty can mean nothing if it is not translated. Knowledge means nothing if it cannot be translated and even words mean nothing if they are not translated.
The truth of the matter is that all our existence has to be translated to feeling otherwise it means nothing. The greatest gift you can give someone is a rare feeling that fills their entire being. The best way to hurt someone is also through a feeling.
With this end in mind, it can be possible to determine the value and weight of everything. Nothing else can weigh things this accurately.
Money in itself means nothing if it can't be translated. Beauty can mean nothing if it is not translated. Knowledge means nothing if it cannot be translated and even words mean nothing if they are not translated.
The truth of the matter is that all our existence has to be translated to feeling otherwise it means nothing. The greatest gift you can give someone is a rare feeling that fills their entire being. The best way to hurt someone is also through a feeling.
With this end in mind, it can be possible to determine the value and weight of everything. Nothing else can weigh things this accurately.
Passion is everything. It would make all the difference if you did one thing a day to make you feel good about yourself.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Pink Shades
Wouldn't it be great to put on pink colored shades and see the world devoid of all those ugly colors? To see all the ugliness in rose colored shades? However it's contrast that makes us appreciate beautiful colors from ugly colors. The question becomes, are the beautiful colors you might see worth all the ugliness around them?
Friday, January 18, 2008
I Too Had Hopes And Dreams
"Don't look at me this way, I too had hopes and dreams," that's what I told him as he stared back at me. I had a look of sorrow and disappointment on my face and I expected him to have the same look on his, yet his face was filled with contempt. I waved my left hand slowly and he waved his right, I moved my head to the right and he moved his head to the left. Whenever I would make a move he'd do the same move albeit inverted in a way, but when it came to the facial expression, no matter what I did, he'd still have that look of contempt on his face.
I felt sorry for him and he felt contempt for me. I looked for all the possible futures and he looked for all the possible pasts and with all these possibilities, we found ourselves in an impossible situation of having to live with each other. He's like an old companion, who shadows me wherever I go but could never really turn into a friend.
Of course I wouldn't always see him and on many occasions I would only just remember him and hear his voice. One such occasion when I hear his voice is whenever I open the fridge door. He tells me to drink from the bottle directly while causing my thoughts to drift to unsubstantiated fears of contamination. It's always him that tells me that it doesn't matter if I infect another, trying to convince me that it's okay if those I love share what I may suffer for if they discovered what I might have, they'd let me suffer too and in all likelihood disown me.
Every time I use a fork or a spoon that will be used by someone else other than me I feel that same struggle and that same inner fear, the fear that someone will contract the virus. I've read so much and I know that this is highly unlikely but when I look into the spoon that same contemptuous face stares back and tells me different. He also reminds me that people won't shake my hand even though they can't contract the disease, he tells me that they won't want me around even if I'm wrapped in a sterile wrapping. Sometimes I'd listen to him till he wears me down and sometimes he'd listen to me till I wore him down, for there was no escape from our joint fate.
I remember the time we went to Dubai after I had landed my dream job in one of the largest architectural firms there. It was perfect, a new life and a new chance to start over without the fear of being discovered, without the instability caused by that constant fear of having to spend the rest of my life in quarantine. In short it was the chance to start living out my dream. I arrived on a visit visa that lasts three months but should be changed to a residential visa. I was in a hurry to make that move and settle down. I had left everything behind in Egypt, and I wasn't really prepared to look back, and even my old companion had disappeared for a long time and I thought I had left him back there.
But one day, well into my second month of stay in Dubai I went out with an acquaintance from work. We went to a nightclub. I can't remember much about it except that it was mostly blue and dimly lit. A band was playing for the first half of the night as we drank our beers followed by tequila shots. When we had lost our senses enough they switched to a DJ with loads of house music and everyone was dancing. The loud music and the drinks made me feel like I was in a dream. I heard the words I said as if spoken by a stranger as I talked to random people at the club. I was aware of what I was saying and yet I seemed to be just an observer, looking at myself from behind a glass. I headed to the bathroom and as the sound of loud music became distant I became more and more aware of that voice. It sounded familiar to me and not quite me. Dazed and drunk I looked into the mirror and I caught a glimpse of that familiar face that I knew all too well. It was only a moment and it felt like a dream to have seen him after a long time. I shook it off though and went back to dancing.
We left the night club and I was half drunk and half sleepy but we decided to have a little snack. We walked down a street with lots of food shops to choose from, but I discovered that this wasn't the only thing in plenty. The street flooded with a plethora of prostitutes. I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if these were really women who sold pleasure, and so I asked my friend, and he confirmed that they were.
"It's a form of tourism over here, it' not exactly legal, but the government doesn't stop it either," he said.
"Yes, but how does it work here?" I asked.
"Simple, you just walk up to them and ask 'how much', and they'll tell you their prices, but alternatively they may give you a piece of paper with their number and you can call them and negotiate a price," he responded.
"Why would they give you a piece of paper instead of just talking?" I asked.
"Well lately the police have been harassing them and asking questions whenever they talked to people so they talk on the phone instead to steer clear from trouble, but it's all just for show anyway," he replied.
"But isn't it dangerous to do that, considering they might carry AIDS?" I said as my phobia started to take its old shape.
"That shouldn't be a problem here if they have a residential visa, because everyone gets an HIV test and has to pass before they're granted the visa, if they test positive, they have to leave the country or are deported or something"
This piece of news awaked my long dormant old companion who seemed to have been determined to visit me that night. He awakened frightened and frightened me to death. What if they were on visit visa or if they had engaged in their activities with clients that were on visit visa and carried the virus, I thought to myself.
I started dreading the blood test and I was once more surrounded by that feeling of instability. Once more my old companion surfaced and looked at me with contempt. By the end of the visit visa my fear had turned to a living nightmare thanks to my old companion who seemed to have never left me from that day. I eventually listened to him and turned down my dream job, opting to live obscurely in reality. He won that time and continues to survive as long as I'm ignorant as to whether I carry the virus.
So there we were right where we started, facing each other through a body length mirror, looking at me with contempt for blowing away his dream, he had hopes to be somewhere safe with all that he ever dreamed of. He's such an odd character, this old companion, he speaks with such contempt about those carrying the virus, and yet he doesn't want me to try and find out if I have it or not. It's as if he's stealthily willing the virus to spread if I actually do have it and willing me to live in utter fear if I don't.
The odd thing about him too is that he's right about a great many things, about how people will treat me and how they will put distance between us, even my closest friends and he's right about how my life will never be the same and none of the normalcy which I enjoy now will be taken when I cross that gate. But the only reason that's true is because of him. Yes, it's because of how he feels, and how he can never accept me. It's his desire to be in denial, even though he's my own denial.
He's taken me down a spiral of despair. He's taken me to judge, he's taken me to deny and he's taken me to look upon others with disgust. He's taken me to phobia and he's taken me to mania and all the time I knew I wasn't in the right places.
It's a horrible thing to live in fear, and worse yet to be judged by someone living inside you. But even with this fear and discomfort, I think it better and more bearable than for everyone to know and never let you forget the discomfort of their harsh judgment. Even my old companion inside, who is me, thought of everyone that had the virus with disgust and blamed them for their misfortune without even knowing their story. But he knew mine and never dared blame me.
If people should find out, like my mirror companion they won't care about my story and they will blame me and judge me and punish me. They will punish me not knowing that I have enough punishment to bear and that I carry a burden with me that they can't ever imagine, not considering that I too had hopes and dreams that have diminished with the impossibility of achieving them. There's a bit of comfort with my old companion for he knows that even with his harsh judgment some cases are beyond his evil reach. Those children bearing the virus from their mothers, children abused at a young age, those who have been raped and those whom others' neglect transferred the virus into their blood stream. My old companion cannot blame those but I know that some of these people look for forgiveness from others even though they shouldn't need any.
Once in a while when I look into a shiny spoon or a shiny doorknob or a reflective glass he stares at me with disgust, but at the same time urging me to remain in hidden shame. He is my fear and he embodies all what I fear if I find out I'm infected. How I wish I could kill him, but that would mean killing everyone who would look at me with disgust; how I wish he would change, but that would mean changing everyone around who lacks sympathy or understanding; the understanding that I too have hopes and dreams and without their help, they are crushed.
I felt sorry for him and he felt contempt for me. I looked for all the possible futures and he looked for all the possible pasts and with all these possibilities, we found ourselves in an impossible situation of having to live with each other. He's like an old companion, who shadows me wherever I go but could never really turn into a friend.
Of course I wouldn't always see him and on many occasions I would only just remember him and hear his voice. One such occasion when I hear his voice is whenever I open the fridge door. He tells me to drink from the bottle directly while causing my thoughts to drift to unsubstantiated fears of contamination. It's always him that tells me that it doesn't matter if I infect another, trying to convince me that it's okay if those I love share what I may suffer for if they discovered what I might have, they'd let me suffer too and in all likelihood disown me.
Every time I use a fork or a spoon that will be used by someone else other than me I feel that same struggle and that same inner fear, the fear that someone will contract the virus. I've read so much and I know that this is highly unlikely but when I look into the spoon that same contemptuous face stares back and tells me different. He also reminds me that people won't shake my hand even though they can't contract the disease, he tells me that they won't want me around even if I'm wrapped in a sterile wrapping. Sometimes I'd listen to him till he wears me down and sometimes he'd listen to me till I wore him down, for there was no escape from our joint fate.
I remember the time we went to Dubai after I had landed my dream job in one of the largest architectural firms there. It was perfect, a new life and a new chance to start over without the fear of being discovered, without the instability caused by that constant fear of having to spend the rest of my life in quarantine. In short it was the chance to start living out my dream. I arrived on a visit visa that lasts three months but should be changed to a residential visa. I was in a hurry to make that move and settle down. I had left everything behind in Egypt, and I wasn't really prepared to look back, and even my old companion had disappeared for a long time and I thought I had left him back there.
But one day, well into my second month of stay in Dubai I went out with an acquaintance from work. We went to a nightclub. I can't remember much about it except that it was mostly blue and dimly lit. A band was playing for the first half of the night as we drank our beers followed by tequila shots. When we had lost our senses enough they switched to a DJ with loads of house music and everyone was dancing. The loud music and the drinks made me feel like I was in a dream. I heard the words I said as if spoken by a stranger as I talked to random people at the club. I was aware of what I was saying and yet I seemed to be just an observer, looking at myself from behind a glass. I headed to the bathroom and as the sound of loud music became distant I became more and more aware of that voice. It sounded familiar to me and not quite me. Dazed and drunk I looked into the mirror and I caught a glimpse of that familiar face that I knew all too well. It was only a moment and it felt like a dream to have seen him after a long time. I shook it off though and went back to dancing.
We left the night club and I was half drunk and half sleepy but we decided to have a little snack. We walked down a street with lots of food shops to choose from, but I discovered that this wasn't the only thing in plenty. The street flooded with a plethora of prostitutes. I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if these were really women who sold pleasure, and so I asked my friend, and he confirmed that they were.
"It's a form of tourism over here, it' not exactly legal, but the government doesn't stop it either," he said.
"Yes, but how does it work here?" I asked.
"Simple, you just walk up to them and ask 'how much', and they'll tell you their prices, but alternatively they may give you a piece of paper with their number and you can call them and negotiate a price," he responded.
"Why would they give you a piece of paper instead of just talking?" I asked.
"Well lately the police have been harassing them and asking questions whenever they talked to people so they talk on the phone instead to steer clear from trouble, but it's all just for show anyway," he replied.
"But isn't it dangerous to do that, considering they might carry AIDS?" I said as my phobia started to take its old shape.
"That shouldn't be a problem here if they have a residential visa, because everyone gets an HIV test and has to pass before they're granted the visa, if they test positive, they have to leave the country or are deported or something"
This piece of news awaked my long dormant old companion who seemed to have been determined to visit me that night. He awakened frightened and frightened me to death. What if they were on visit visa or if they had engaged in their activities with clients that were on visit visa and carried the virus, I thought to myself.
I started dreading the blood test and I was once more surrounded by that feeling of instability. Once more my old companion surfaced and looked at me with contempt. By the end of the visit visa my fear had turned to a living nightmare thanks to my old companion who seemed to have never left me from that day. I eventually listened to him and turned down my dream job, opting to live obscurely in reality. He won that time and continues to survive as long as I'm ignorant as to whether I carry the virus.
So there we were right where we started, facing each other through a body length mirror, looking at me with contempt for blowing away his dream, he had hopes to be somewhere safe with all that he ever dreamed of. He's such an odd character, this old companion, he speaks with such contempt about those carrying the virus, and yet he doesn't want me to try and find out if I have it or not. It's as if he's stealthily willing the virus to spread if I actually do have it and willing me to live in utter fear if I don't.
The odd thing about him too is that he's right about a great many things, about how people will treat me and how they will put distance between us, even my closest friends and he's right about how my life will never be the same and none of the normalcy which I enjoy now will be taken when I cross that gate. But the only reason that's true is because of him. Yes, it's because of how he feels, and how he can never accept me. It's his desire to be in denial, even though he's my own denial.
He's taken me down a spiral of despair. He's taken me to judge, he's taken me to deny and he's taken me to look upon others with disgust. He's taken me to phobia and he's taken me to mania and all the time I knew I wasn't in the right places.
It's a horrible thing to live in fear, and worse yet to be judged by someone living inside you. But even with this fear and discomfort, I think it better and more bearable than for everyone to know and never let you forget the discomfort of their harsh judgment. Even my old companion inside, who is me, thought of everyone that had the virus with disgust and blamed them for their misfortune without even knowing their story. But he knew mine and never dared blame me.
If people should find out, like my mirror companion they won't care about my story and they will blame me and judge me and punish me. They will punish me not knowing that I have enough punishment to bear and that I carry a burden with me that they can't ever imagine, not considering that I too had hopes and dreams that have diminished with the impossibility of achieving them. There's a bit of comfort with my old companion for he knows that even with his harsh judgment some cases are beyond his evil reach. Those children bearing the virus from their mothers, children abused at a young age, those who have been raped and those whom others' neglect transferred the virus into their blood stream. My old companion cannot blame those but I know that some of these people look for forgiveness from others even though they shouldn't need any.
Once in a while when I look into a shiny spoon or a shiny doorknob or a reflective glass he stares at me with disgust, but at the same time urging me to remain in hidden shame. He is my fear and he embodies all what I fear if I find out I'm infected. How I wish I could kill him, but that would mean killing everyone who would look at me with disgust; how I wish he would change, but that would mean changing everyone around who lacks sympathy or understanding; the understanding that I too have hopes and dreams and without their help, they are crushed.
This story is a work of fiction sent in to the "Creative Art Competition" organized by UNAIDS as a part of the 2007 World AIDS Campaign, the category was 'Journalism and Creative Writing'.
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